


For Better or For Worse

by disgruntledwing



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Mourning, Unhappy Ending, Wedding Rings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:21:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29964930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgruntledwing/pseuds/disgruntledwing
Summary: “Normally, I care so little for the customs here. It is always misused, giving weight to words that these fools around me could never understand. They taint the very words that break free from my chest, when I know this feeling deeper than anyone,” Damian started softly. “But I like this. I think you would as well. We never were able to talk about it, but I’d like to think you would have wanted this as much as I do.”Dickdami Week 2021 - Wedding
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Damian Wayne
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	For Better or For Worse

**Author's Note:**

> this is not a happy fic, unfortunately. This prompt is supposed to be light and lovely and fluffy, but this just wouldn't leave my head. And perhaps because Dd is always going to be very angsty to me, I just had to do this. Now, it's been awhile! I've been working on a jaydick centered fic, which should be done eventually. Even though I love this idea, I didn't have the time I wanted to write it, so it's shorter and not really edited. Not my best work, but I still have a soft spot for it. Hope you enjoy 🤍 
> 
> ps. I also put in an art piece I did for this story at the end, as well as one I did for Day: 2 Soulmates at the beginning because I felt like it fit the mood. Let me know how you liked the fic and/or the art. I'll talk more at the end...

****

“I’m not really sure what to do anymore.” 

The Gotham chill seeped through the youngest Wayne’s black suit, draining what little warmth he had. Dark boots stood still on ice streaked with dirt. Damian’s fingers burned, scarlet undertones turning blue, but his mind was elsewhere. 

Jade eyes looked down at the gravestone, still feeling expectant for a reply even after months of silence. It was the hardest place in the world to be, and yet also the easiest, because it was the closest place to _him_ than anywhere else. Dick was not in the sweaters he left behind, the notes in his messy scrawl, nor the bloody suit that Damian couldn’t put away. He was not in polaroids, or the rush of falling, nor even in the dark of their apartment when Damian willed him to appear. 

He was just...gone. 

And was it so wrong, to want to be able to see his ghost in all things? To see him even one more time, even if it wasn’t true? To hear or see him in every beautiful thing in the world? To dance with his ghost even if jade eyes were shut, to be able to _feel_ again? No, Damian had thought it would hurt differently from this. He had known how deep it would ruin him, but even still it felt overwhelming. Had thought it would be like losing his mind along with his heart, that he would fall into a world of shadows and live in a state where he could see Dick again, to live in a _fantasy._ And if it were not real, then it would still be better than the sheer emptiness he felt living now. 

“If you were here, perhaps you would say that I have my entire life before me, that I should not waste all that I have worked for. All that _we_ worked for,” Damian said quietly. He stared down at the unforgiving stone, uncaring of how quickly hot tears fell. 

Damian blinked, the moment flaring up, every feeling of grief and fear and _loneliness_ swelling up. “But how could you ask me that? How could anyone? I don’t…I _can’t_ -” Damian choked, his legs buckling. He collapsed, knees hitting the ice hard. He felt desperate and rabid, like every emotion was clawing out of his throat from his empty chest, like every emotion he had ever had was festering in the dark depths of where his heart used to be, and it burned like acid coming out. 

“I can’t see you anymore. I don’t see you like I thought I would, I thought...I thought I would be able to _find_ you still, and lose myself in it,” Damian rasped, the heaves of his chest promising sobs soon. “I had thought I could be _haunted,_ as if you would follow me and let me live in this world with you still, not _this_ ,” Damian hissed, shoulders falling. 

The silence continued, and Damian grit his teeth, his muscles tensing with barely concealed desperation. He felt abandoned, like Dick had cast him off and never thought to look back. But that was unfair, because he _knew_ Dick did not want to leave. He knew Dick had tried his hardest to stay with Damian, could still see the way that Dick had dragged himself towards Damian when his body was already shutting down. 

Damian sobbed, the piercing burn of tears and the strain of his throat from holding his sobs in so long not enough to distract him. He bent his head, the weight of his words crushing. He already had talked so minimally with the rest of the family, with Dick gone...So rarely now did he feel as if words meant anything anymore. 

It would have been nice then, if Dick’s death had brought him closer to the family. Had allowed them to pool their hurt and sadness together, attempting solace for something that could not ever be healed. But it made things worse. If another had died, if Jason or Tim or Bruce or _anyone_ else had died, they would be able to bear the weight, and could still move forward. Would feel the sting of their death every day in the hearts, but their heart would still beat, would still propel them forward. Perhaps even harder, would vengeance and despair drive them. 

But Dick wasn’t like the rest of the family. 

He was different, he always had been. To _all_ of the family, he was different. To Bruce, who disappeared from Wayne enterprises and fell entirely into the darkness of Batman, his presence around the city increased to almost inhuman capacities, his desire for brutality deciding a new era for Gotham. Damian hadn’t seen him in months, but he knew that Bruce was gone too. He had loved Dick even before Damian was born. 

To Jason, who lost himself in alcohol and rage, hunting down rapists or pedophiles or really _any_ lowlife to kill. It went ever farther than that - he dealt with Gotham’s villains worse than ever, and Damian knew his father either didn’t care anymore or wanted it to happen. There weren’t as many villains in Gotham anymore. 

To Tim, whose life was bound to the light of the computer, who searched constantly for the _why_ of Dick’s death. For the _why_ of such unfortunate factors seemed as if it was just random, but that was too hard to accept. There must have been some hint that he missed, some indication of that outcome that Tim could have found. He was dying before them, the wreck of grief and loss manifesting into obsession, his body wasting away behind the drive of guilt. 

And then Damian. 

He had killed the man that shot Dick. Damian could still remember the rush of blood spilling over his fingers, his fist ripping out the man’s jugular. Damian would have killed him later, but the man had panicked behind Damian when he heard Dick take his last breath. When Damian saw Dick’s face go slack and heard the man’s pitiful whine behind him, Damian didn't even think about it. He had to die. 

The man hadn’t meant to kill Dick. Dick was trying to help the man, offering him solace if he handed the gun over, offering him safety from whatever villain had paid him into hire. The man initially seemed to relent, in that way only Dick could make people do, but a malfunction of Dick’s audio piece made the tense silence break, the loud static startling the man. If he was on drugs, or simply insane, Damian didn’t know. The man had shot Dick four times point blank, one tearing a hole through Dick’s jaw, Damian’s heart stopping. Damian could still hear the whistling gurgle in Dick’s throat as he tried to stop the bleeding. Could still see the ragged hole through Dick’s jaw, where Damian could see bloody molars and Dick’s own skin choke him, the scarlet folds spewing hot blood. Could still see Dick’s eyes roll back and red torrents gush out as Dick’s lower face slowly crumpled. Could still feel the immediate wave of world-crushing revulsion knowing that was _not supposed to ever happen._

Was that the cruelest part? That Dick had died to a fluke, to a pathetic, weak man, because of a random glitch in equipment? Would it have been better to die in a blaze of glory, muscled coiled in fight, to fall with grace and honor? There was that feeling of disbelief that Damian could never shake, that a being so powerful and utterly perfect could fall like that. It was too hard to pick an outcome, _any_ outcome, that didn’t mean Dick came home that night. But _that_ one...it didn’t make sense. 

And yet for all of this, it hadn’t brought the family closer together. There was no family anymore, for that meant they had to talk and interact, to comfort and care for one another, their thoughts no longer solely tied to who they had lost. Dick had always been the core of the family, his body wreathed in red ties that connected all of them to each other, his kind smile turning even the darkest of looks. With him gone, the hole that was left was too wide, torn too raggedly for hopes of reconnecting. That was for the family. 

For Damian, it was different still. 

Loss happened so often in the vigilante community, but it had happened so much more in Damian’s life before Gotham. He had taken lives without a thought, had reveled in the ability to cut another’s life so short, the thrill of ability and triumph over the greatest gift of all - life. But when he came to Gotham, his sense of loss started to change. No longer was it this challenge, or trial of skill, or a chance to prove his quality. No, it had morphed into something uglier still, and _quickly._ When kind blue eyes and a steady hand backed Damian, it was harder to understand where Damian’s place in this gift of life was. When soft murmurs of praise and warm kisses graced Damian’s skin, it was as if everything finally made sense. Purpose to win had transformed into a purpose to love, for there was no greater will than to tie himself to his mentor. To pledge everything in Dick’s name, to see him behind eyelids and within dreams, to feel him in every instance of beauty in the world around him. And suddenly, loss turned into something _vulnerable._ At the most, Damian would’ve thought that loss would be Dick refusing Damian’s love, had thought that would be the worst thing he could conceive of. And yet, if that had happened, he would have continued. Orbiting around Dick, his love burning in its solitude, but still there. For where Dick went, Damian would follow. 

But that didn’t happen. What had happened was _impossible._ Dick was gone. This time Damian could not follow. The dance they had been having had years behind it, furtive looks and hungry touches, and Damian knew that there was love for him in Dick. That Dick loved him _back_ , perhaps even almost as much as Damian loved him _._ The dance was exhilarating, give and take in the simplest of looks, of _knowing_ that the other loved them truly. Damian would give him everything, and Dick would take it desperately. There was no label for the parameters of their relationship, because it transcended such trivialities. It just was. 

_Was._ Damian’s face stung from the cold, the warm undertones he had always had gone, leaving him gaunt and hollow. His chest ached so deeply, he always wondered if he was slowly fading from grief. The warmth that used to pulse through his was gone, leaving an empty shell. For a pain this deep, so _true_ and unyielding surely would kill him. 

Damian sucked in a breath, the Gotham cold burning his throat. “I brought something this time,” Damian said slowly, willing himself to say everything that he had repeated in his head the night before. He opened his hands, jade eyes fixed on the black rings in his hands. 

“Normally, I care so little for the customs here. It is always misused, giving weight to words that these fools around me could never understand. They taint the very words that break free from my chest, when I know this feeling deeper than anyone,” Damian started softly. “But I like this. I think you would as well. We never were able to talk about it, but I’d like to think you would have wanted this as much as I do.” 

Tilting his head up, Damian looked at the gravestone. 

_Richard John Grayson_

_Beloved son, brother, friend, and lover._

_“Heavy is the heart that beats for all”_

_But not like how it beat for me._ Those words haunted him, cutting open festering insecurities long after they even mattered. To _share_ someone so beautiful, so heaven-sent, was not fair. For everyone else who loved him, Damian _still_ loved him more. It was not a question. But it was hard to acknowledge that his pain was not alone. That other people loved him, that others could even _think_ to equate their pain. Damian grit his teeth, desperate not to fall into despair again so quickly. He held out the black ring, hand still for a second. He was so used to holding the rings together tightly in his palm; the familiar weight was comforting in a way that even Dick’s sweater could not be. 

“I made them out of your escrima sticks and my sword. The metals are melted together. They are black. Perhaps you would complain if you were here, but I’ve already told you that it is not my favored color, despite your protests. The blue of your eyes was,” Damian’s mouth twitched, the veil of comfort to talk so freely over his burning eyes, even though he knew it was all for naught, was soothing. Like a deep breath before the descent into battle, he did not want to let the veil go. 

“No, they are black for mourning. For that is all that my life is without you. Mourning. Fading. Dying.” 

Damian exhaled shakily, placing the larger black ring on the gravestone top. The white marble looked gray under the Gotham winter sky. Damian already missed the weight of the ring in his hand. 

“I don’t really know what I am doing anymore. I feel like you’re here, even though I know you are not. It would be foolish to do what I am doing, and yet I feel as if the second I say it my chest will not ache so deeply, being physically bound to you like this,” Damian said, standing up slowly.

“Nothing I say is something you didn’t know already, that I hadn’t felt for you since I was ten. Since I have met you, the depths that my heart beats in are endless. The only person I have ever wanted - the only person I have ever _needed._ It is as if every fiber of my being was awakened upon meeting you, upon falling for you, because now…” Damian’s voice fell. “Now my body moves, but it is pulled by invisible strings, no life or will within my blood any longer.” 

Damian shifted, his shoulders tense. He struggled to imagine Dick in front of them, but the ghost of him felt far away, _always_ felt far away. “It feels redundant to say. How could I convey what you mean to me? Now, of all times? I cannot...But I will try, for I know that indulging in this silly practice will ease my fear that your love fades with you,” Damian whispered. He blinked, trying to remember what he practiced, what words that had taken root within his skull and promised him solace if he let them out. 

“I vow to support you, to be the Robin at your back. To respect your word, and to cherish your...presence,” Damian choked, the reality of what he could not promise threatening to ruin everything. “To love you with all that I am, for from this ache in my bones I know I was destined to do so.” 

Damian felt his tears returning, his descent to the ground slow. “To love you, in sickness or in health, in life and in…” Damian choked out, his chest splitting open. He held the black ring out, turning his left hand slowly to see the bare finger. 

“In life and in…” Damian repeated, his words thick. _It should be your hand placing this ring upon me._ Dick’s ring looked so small on the gravestone. 

“And in death.” Damian placed the ring around his finger, the black band of mourning finalizing the weight of his words. 

_In death_ echoed in his head, his head feeling light. He knew he would not last long. His very heart had stopped beating that day, his body only moving now through memory and afterthought. It was all _wrong._ He had never even thought about marriage, the notion so domestic he hadn’t even considered how for most of the world, that was the true confirmation of true love. But it couldn’t be. It wasn’t. For what they had was true love, the _real_ love, and a band around his finger didn’t mean he wouldn’t have died for the man in front of him. Perhaps it wasn’t the confirmation of true love. Damian clenched his fist, the band digging into his palm painfully. Perhaps it was just to enjoy true love, a way to bask in the joining of their love, to be physically tethered where tendrils of fate had intertwined. It didn’t mean whether or whether not, but it was just _more_ to give, _more_ to promise. 

What would they have done, had Dick stayed? Perhaps it would have been in Gotham on the Wayne estate, on a rare day of high sun. Dick would have worn a dark suit with blue accents, ones that made his eyes shine even brighter. Damian would have worn something simple, not really caring about the _what_ but more if Dick liked it. He knew how handsome Dick would have looked, like a blinding statue of perfection, and how joy and love would pour out of him so easily, how his laugh would turn Damian’s neck so quickly, drawn eternally to the beautiful sound. Damian wondered if they would have invited anyone. He cared not, for he just would have wanted to be there with Dick. But he knew Dick would want to have their family there, to allow this rare instance of joy for others, or maybe simply to show the world. Damian didn’t care. The only part of a wedding he would have wanted was gone. It would have been nice to see Dick’s smile when Damian told him his vows. It would have been nice to kiss Dick after they promised forever to each other. 

Damian shut his eyes, trying to focus on the smoothness of the ring, failing to imagine that Dick had placed it on his finger and the moment had been everything he ever wanted. Damian opened his eyes to dirty ice that made Dick’s gravestone look dull. 

Damian knew he didn’t have a forever in his body anymore. He couldn’t, how could he? His heart was gone, had been buried six feet under his shoes right there. He was fading, slowly, the rebellion of his essence to live so _alone_ without his beloved pulling him apart every day, tearing open the endless hole in his chest. But he wore Dick’s ring. He could not see Dick anymore, not in anything around him, could never be so lucky as to be tricked into seeing his beloved even one more time, could never dance with his ghost. Dick was just gone. 

“But I wear your ring, beloved. For I could only ever be yours.” 

The black ring on the gravestone looked so small, so inconsequential. Damian knew how little of himself he was left with, having parted with the ring. Anything left of himself was in that ring - he had poured everything he had into perfecting it. Damian tightened his fists, dull jade eyes on the gravestone. His black slacks were soaked; his legs were numb. He held the ring so tightly it had bruised into his palm, the deep scarlet of broken blood vessels blossoming under gaunt skin. 

_Do you take this man? To love and to hold, in life or in death?_

“I do,” Damian said softly, the silence echoing the empty depths within his chest. 

****

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! If you want to follow my dc art mainly, you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/disgruntledwing). I also want to add that for the last photo, you may recognize the tree in the background! I used this [comic strip](https://64.media.tumblr.com/e347a0db8711dbe0c5daa11fedbed75e/tumblr_inline_ninn33atQn1s81zze.png), that has always held a special part in my heart, so I did not draw that part and want to credit a beautiful scene. it's always the sad ones...well, happy day 4 of Dickdami week! thank you for reading 🖤


End file.
